Page 75 of Binding Their Hearts

The latch closed behind her.

He picked up the phone. His new life with Henry and Alice would start today. In maybe twenty minutes he’d be telling them and dozens of friends what that meant to him. The past belonged behind him, not hanging over his head in a silent what-if.

The number was already in his recents, from a voicemail three days ago. The call picked up after a ring and a half.

“Jay Michael.” Peggy’s insistence on using his middle name was a petty and childish shot at gaining the upper hand in every conversation, like he didn’t deserve to be called what he chose. “I’d just about forgotten what you sounded like.”

The guilt trip, yup, his oldest sister’s standard follow-up. Only a couple of weeks ago he’d played one of her messages for Danny, and they’d broken it down like an essay in English class, except instead of identifying metaphors, he got to learn all the traps she set and how they sprung. The trick was not to engage, to only focus on the things he wanted to say and let her performance roll off him. “Hi, Peggy. I’ll just take a minute.”

When he didn’t apologize for not returning her calls, she huffed at him. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to call in the middle of me making Sunday supper, but it’s fine.”

That was the double shot—if he let her dictate how he felt about himself, he’d feel awful for not calling sooner and for calling now. Accept her path, and he was an inconvenience either way. To stay clear, he had to pick his own paths. “Great. I wanted to tell you—”

“Actually, now that I’ve got you, about Thanksgiving—”

“You don’t.”

“Excuse me?” Her hackles had gone up. When he didn’t fall in line, she brought out her anger to assert control. His notes from therapy said so.

“You don’t got me. Have me. I’m not calling to apologize for who I am or who I love.” That was something he’d never do again, for anyone.

“Then why did you call, you ungrateful—”

“Because I want you to know not to call me anymore. If you’re ever ready to really talk, call Kevin and he can reach me. But don’t call me, Peggy. I’m blocking your number. I won’t hear your messages. I hope you have a good life and learn to be less bitter. Try therapy. It’s great.” One long rush of words, because if he gave her a second to interrupt, she would.

“Jay Michael, you are the wor—”

“Goodbye, Peggy.”

He ended the call. And blocked the number. And felt three times lighter, and sat down before lightheadedness had him collapsing on the floor. Oh, that guy? Yeah, he fainted before his wedding ’cause he was so happy.

He dropped his head between his knees, riding a wave of giddy laughter. “Damn right I am.”

Chapter thirty-five

Henry

As the music swelled and the salon doors opened, Henry waited for Alice and Jay to come to him.

Clarity descended over the hundreds of details competing for his attention. The artist, the hedonist, the sensualist within slowed time to capture the ephemeral before it could slip away. The wedding processional Jay had chosen rang out not with bombast and strident demands but with light and longing, two violins swooping and dancing above the unfaltering rhythm that grounded them.

His lovers entered side by side, their steps smoothly paired, Alice’s arm tucked around Jay’s elbow, her hand resting on his. In the front row, Emma and his mother stood—as did Alice’s sister, across the aisle, whose arrival had been a welcome surprise as he waited with Will—and the crowd rose in a wave, heads turning to see what he saw: utter, stunning magnificence. He shut his mouth against the rumbling growl in his chest, and his possessive heat only grew from the denial.

Fiery yearning suffused him with an impatient hunger for the lovely music to be played double time, for the ceremony to be short, for the crowd to vanish and leave him with his loves. Alice’s plaintive demand echoed: I just want that minute to arrive. He granted his amusement dominion—how alike they could be, he and Alice—and fierce joy twined around and through him.

This was his moment. The present moment, always, moving with the flow of time, experienced fully and shared with Alice and Jay, whose carefully restrained steps revealed their own impatience to reach him.

The green beads of Alice’s shoes flashed in the light. Her bare legs offered a tantalizing glimpse beneath the dress swirling at her calves, a silver waterfall only made more sophisticated and striking by the woman wearing it. She’d left her hair down, the waves of wheat-brown a gold and bronze complement to the silver she wore. An air of command clung to her. She approached not as a supplicant but as an equal—choosing him, choosing Jay, choosing this life they would construct together. His glorious girl.

Beside her, Jay vibrated with energy, the athlete concealed by decadent formalwear, grinning broadly, with eyes only for his master. And at his throat—Henry missed a breath and clenched his hands against the urge to touch his neck. Jay wore the tie he’d worn more than five years ago in this very room as they dined together for the first time. Knotted in the complicated trinity pattern Henry’s mother had woven into his own. Three folds, equal and overlapping, bound for eternity.

The music hushed, a gentle pianissimo fade as Alice and Jay reached the front and stood beside him while their guests sat. Hazel and deep brown eyes welled; he himself was not immune to the emotional abundance overtaking his rational mind. He felt more than saw Jay’s hand shift, and he linked their fingers without knowing whether the trembling came from Jay’s body or his own. Alice had done the same on Jay’s other side. At Henry’s knowing look, she smiled and dropped her gaze to his clasp before returning a teasingly lifted brow.

Will clapped his hands, and Alice and Jay startled into attention. Henry pressed his tongue behind his teeth, stifling a laugh.

“Well. I suppose someone ought to start this shindig, and that someone ought to be me, lest we watch these three lovebirds gaze at each other for an hour. I know you can’t all see the mini-theater going on up here”—from his perch a step above them, on a small portable dais, Will spread his arms to encompass their cluster—“but let me tell you, it’s quite a show.”

From the wicked gleam in Alice’s eye, Henry half expected a stuck-out tongue at any moment, but she settled for a headshake and a wry tilt to her lips.

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